National Association of Second Lieutenants Responds To Criticism

WASHINGTON, D.C. – The National Association of Second Lieutenants released a statement and held a press conference today in response to almost universal criticism their members have been receiving from soldiers, Marines, and airmen.

The group spokesman, Second Lieutenant Jack Brietovich, was late for the press conference due to an apparent problem with his 2006 Hyundai’s GPS system. After he arrived, he then realized that he left the typed statement in his other pants — forcing him to send his driver, PFC Michael Wilson to find it.

The press conference began two and a half hours late, and caused those attending to get stuck in traffic leaving post, miss dinner with their children, and file their reports after deadlines.

Once behind the podium, Brietovitch unfolded a sheet of paper and read casually. “Boo-fucking-hoo,” the statement began, in a mock whiny voice, “I hate the LT soooo much. He makes me go look for things in the conex, and all he ever does is sit around in his little office playing minesweeper on his toughbook. It’s so unfair!”

Lieutenant Brietovitch then dropped his mocking tone and cleared his throat.

“You know what’s not fair? You little shits did two months of basic training. What’s that? Your drill sergeant was mean to you? I went to West Point. Yeah, that’s right. I had three years of upperclassmen yelling at me, treating me like shit, and beating me with broomsticks. That shit went on for four fucking years, and I got a degree in chemical engineering at the same time. How you like that? I tell you what, you don’t know shit until you’re a fucking first year plebe at the military academy.”

“What’s that, you went to college too? Oh, I know you did; its ok. I’m sure that semester and a half at Bumfuck County Community College really taught you a lot about the world. I bet you even know what a thesis statement is. I’m sure that knowledge is really helping with your online classes at University of Maryland University College University School.”

Pausing, Brietovitch glared at those in attendance. Picking a lower enlisted soldier from the room at random, he violently gestured at him with a knife hand.

“Hey Private. . . You! Soldier, come here, hero!” said Brietovitch. “How about you straighten the fuck up and get to buffing these floors?”

Brietovitch then placed the rubber heel of his boot against the floor and drug it across the polished surface, leaving a foot-long scuff mark – all the while staring directly at the private. There was silence in the briefing room.

He turned to readdress the crowd.

“You all just loooove to shit on the butter bar, right? You don’t get your ass eaten by the battalion commander when some private loses a canteen; I do. A goddamn canteen. You think I want that kind of shit to cost so much? You think that I want to be responsible for every screw, nail, and rubber-band that makes an MTOE? No, I don’t. But, I’m an achiever. Like Patton, like MacArthur, Like Colin-mother-fucking-Powell. You know what all those people had in common? They’re all hard-ass, eat up a private and spit em’ out, democracy savin’, nazi killin’ sons a bitches. Oh yeah, all of em – 2 LT’s.”

After this part of the statement, Lieutenant Brietovitch unzipped his pants and placed his testicles on the table next to the podium. With outstretched arms, he addressed the press.

“What? What?” he asked aggressively. “You going to say something, or just salute me? I suggest the latter.”